A Zealot's Soul
by Nothing is Perfect
Summary: A Protoss Zealot in Dark Souls. Zealot is from the End War (Legacy of the Void).
1. Prologue

It was the final battle for the fate of all the known universe. Three races, once embittered with constant war and strife amongst themselves, banded together to face their true enemy, the dark xel'naga Amon. Fleets of Protoss, Terran, and Zerg had crippled the Dark God's forces and pursued him into the void, a tenebrous realm filled with black and crimson shadow. Their current united purpose was to protect one Sarah Kerrigan as she ascended to become a xel'naga herself, a being of unmatchable power capable of destroying Amon's existence. So far, the allied forces held the high ground, an advantageous position for defense.

 _"Remain focused, my friends."_

In the strange floating islands within the dark plane, Praetor Goldarin bravely called to the ranks of his fellow zealots behind him. Together, they charged the scores of enemies created from the reddish black fog, all of them mimicking the structure of units from the allied forces. The high ranked Protoss noted from shorthand experience that there seemed to be a small interval of time for the 'void entities' to form before attacking, and so he led his warriors to periodically raid into the shadowy fog in order to capitalize on that weakness.

Blue Psi-blades thrumming with the fierce ardor instilled in all Templar, Goldarin slashed through several nebulous phantoms in his rush, dispersing them before they could gain shape. He and his zealots dispersed many of the wave of rising shadows, but not all. As with every clash so far, there were casualties, although this time thankfully few in number. Upon spotting a formation of banshees, Terran flying strike ships, forming from the darkness, Goldarin quickly led his surviving zealots back. Their blades had no chance at striking foes in the sky. They reached their previous uphill area, untouched by the dark crimson fog. When their airborne enemies pursued them, they were stuck down from the skies by a wall of photon cannons, automated defenses of Protoss design.

Now, the surviving Templar contingent stood by the nearest Protoss base, awaiting transmissions from the invisible observers for the most optimal time to begin their next assault. Goldarin himself stood by a robotics bay, watching as a grievously wounded zealot from the most recent charge was removed from his power suit. He was a comrade who had shared many battles with him, and unlike the standard zealot, had been clad from head to clawed toe in gold and blue armor and wielded a Solarite Reaper instead of a pair of psi-blades, a mark of those who were sealed long ago to guard the legendary arkship The Spear Of Adun. As the injured Templar was carefully lowered into a cockpit of a large war machine, he transmitted a thought to Goldarin.

 _"Take my weapon Praetor, it serves me no longer. I know you will wield it with honor."_

Silent in respect of his friend's determination to keep fighting, Goldarin reached over the pile of bright discarded armor and hefted the broad double-edged poleaxe with both hands.

 _"It seems I am now redeployed with the rest of the robotic walkers to support our noble Hierarch Artanis further to the south. It is an endeavor that fills with me with flaming anticipation."_

With a hiss, the hull of the tall machine sealed shut, the inside filling itself with a sterile nutrient solution saturated with microscopic machines as special tubing attached itself to the new pilot.

 _"But make no mistake, it was my honor to serve under you in battle."_

Almost immediately after, the legs and twin phase disruptors powered on, completing the zealot's transformation into an immortal. The mobile cybernetic walker was then enveloped in a blinding white light, an indicator of an active warp field.

 _"And it **will** be my honor again."_

It was a promise to meet once more, Goldarin recognized as he saw his friend disappear. The Praetor then heard the mental broadcast from an observer detailing new emerging enemies, and rushed out the technological facility. Quickly organizing his troops, he led a charge anew. It would prove an offensive much more taxing than the last. Most of the phantoms survived the initial charge and metamorphosed into giant Terran mobile siege walkers, the Thors. Although the Protoss ground regiment had new support from a force of towering colossi firing their thermal lances from afar atop a plateau, it wasn't enough. Throngs of heavily injured Zealots roared dying screams as the crystal matrices on their power suits flared and warped them to safety, where they could hopefully be saved.

Kerrigan was very close in her apotheosis. Goldarin could feel the outpour of celestial energies from behind him, pooling around the Zerg matriarch. It seemed Amon and his shadow creatures could sense this as well, and now where pouring the last of their strength in an all out onslaught to stop her. More and more void creatures formed from the nothingness, far outpacing the rate in which they were slain. Suddenly, from hundred of meters in front of the Praetor opened a spacious unnatural portal bordered with a blazing circle of fire. If one peered into it, they would see nothing but pure darkness that no light could illuminate. From the portal emerged a creature that dwarfed even the mighty Colossi, one that Goldarin could sense a deafening amount of psionic potential from. It was a levitating creature with floating tentacles below the waist area, and several scythe-like tendril appendages extending from its upper body and back. It possessed five eyes on each side of its face, magenta crag-like skin separated by glowing purple veins. The creature was what the allied forces called a 'Void Thrasher'. Regarded as the strongest and most dangerous of Amon's remaining forces, the monstrosity could fire across battlefields, thus attack Kerrigan without the need to penetrate all the defenses to reach her position. Earlier in the battle, several of these had arisen, only to be struck down almost instantly by the Queen of Blades using her steadily rising powers. Only, as Goldarin saw no beam of golden light annihilate the creature, he knew something was wrong...or that something was right. The praetor sensed the influx of xel'naga power peaking; Kerrigan must be transcending her existence very soon. Squashing the demur he felt over protecting someone who was once one of the worst enemies of the Protoss, Goldarin suddenly roared to all Protoss minds he could reach.

 _"Brothers, slay the abomination before us!"_

 _"We answer the call!"_

Many of his surviving zealot comrades responded. Boosting his digitigrade legs, the Praetor understood that Kerrigan must succeed, or else they were all doomed. As he sprinted, he observed artillery shells exploding across its body, damaging the Void Thrasher's natural shielding. The monstrous behemoth's massive height caught the attention of far away Terran siege tanks perched on a distant ridge, which immediately had begun firing at it. However, the high-ranked Templar could see a convergence of destructive energy coalesce at the beast's mouth as its shielding shrugged off most of the damage it was receiving. Spurring his battle-worn body ever faster, he and his small platoon of zealots were met with legions of forming shadows, all of which seemed to understand the group of Templar's intent, and purposefully sought to defend the titan. As rows of void creatures began spawning behind the brave zealots as well, they knew they had crossed far passed the depth of the void where return would be nigh impossible. That realization only stirred their warrior hearts higher, of course.

More and more zealots fell, their suits warping back to a safe location, or had their momentum blunted by the myriad of surrounding creatures. In the end, only Goldarin remained, sprinting while wildly spinning the Solarite Reaper with both hands, cutting down foes left and right. It was a technique the Praetor had observed his friend execute many times in battle while wielding the weapon. In the rapidly shortening distance, the last charging Templar could see that the mass of dark energies hanging by the Void Thrasher's mouth exceed half its gargantuan size, a fact that made Goldarin restless. The exuding aura from the beast's attack seemed as if it was crushing him to the floor, yet he held on. At the same time, the zealot noticed that the artillery fire had left the monster's shields flickering in weakness. The tanks had stopped attacking afterwards, having been destroyed by an ambush of aerial void broodlords from the cover of the overhead dark fog.

Reaching the foot of the monster and pouring as much energy into his legs as possible, Goldarin wasted no time in performing the spinning technique, but this time in an upward leap. As he rose into the air, the praetor's storm of swings had fizzled out the Void Thrasher's shield, to which the beast ignored, all of its attention focused on a levitating fiery figure in the far distance, one that was constantly glowing brighter. Finding a foothold on a tentacle near the beast's abdomen, Goldarin leapt upward again. In the apex of his jump, he hung directly above of the mass of void energies, almost losing all control over his senses by the close proximity alone. With only thoughts of stopping the void monstrosity's attack, the Praetor swung his double-edged poleaxe downward with his full strength.

When the ancient Solarite blade portion of weapon came into contact with the dark energies, there seemed to be a repulsion effect. The massive ball of Void fell onto the beast, parts of it absorbed into its mouth. The Void Thrasher seemed to choke at this unexpected occurrence before its entire torso exploded in a immense shockwave of dark power in all directions. The lower body of the beast slammed downward, catching the rim of the portal and set aflame by the ring of fire before slowly slumping and falling into it. As for the Praetor, the blast had launched him skyward, his body flailing limply all the while. The shockwave of void energies had seemed to collide and pass through the Templar. He sensed that some of the void energies had somehow...melded within him, and besides almost having no feeling in his body, he could feel his three hearts beating erratically, an obvious sign of fatal internal injuries for a Protoss. Yet, the monitors in his power suit had not initialized recall, and after painfully craning his neck to glance at his armor, Goldarin knew why. The carefully infused gemstones, the crystal matrices, all crackled in a small black outline.

 _"Surely damaged beyond repair."_

The zealot reasoned solemnly. Then he struggled in turning his head to look at the weapon clasped in a deathgrip in his right hand, and was surprised at the result. Miraculously, the ancient weapon wasn't damaged, but was glowing in a strange shadowy aura. Regardless, the zealot knew his death was at hand. Time seemed to slow down at that moment. His drifting thoughts led him to a saying all Protoss were instructed to utter before death:

 _"I am now one with the Khala."_

Why, that wasn't exactly true anymore, was it? Goldarin faintly remembered the reclamation of Aiur, where all Protoss who still had nerve cords had cut them, severed their connection to the Khala, a communal Psionic link between almost all Protoss. It was a place where the spirits of deceased warriors would go, which now fundamentally didn't exist.

There wasn't much passion to be garnered in a broken body. Before the loss of the Khala, Goldarin had often pondered where the Protoss peoples of Nerazim and Tal'darim went after death. As his senses took leave of him, the Praetor could only wonder...

 _"Where will I go?"  
_

The zealot's eyes closed, his body falling headfirst into the portal from whence the Void thrasher came. Falling...into the dark abyss. After an uncertain amount of time, and hanging onto the verge of consciousness, Goldarin perceived snippets of a distant voice in his mind.

 _...The flames will fade and only Dark will remain. Go Chosen Undead, grasped from across the cosmos..._

* * *

 **AN: Hmmm...actually, I could use this prologue as a segway for many different Starcraft crossovers, not just with dark souls. At any rate, I still have plans to continue this story at least.**

 **Review/Fav/Follow pls :/ (Or all three)**


	2. A New World

In the midst of a decrepit old cell with aged brick walls on all four sides, a motionless body lied on the floor. It was a powerfully built Protoss warrior, a little below ten feet in height. He was clad in an advanced yet decorative golden armor warped in a blackish tint, and clutched in his right hand of four clawed fingers was a great double-edged poleaxe, its turquoise blade components now pulsing a menacing obsidian color. On a face that lacked a mouth, nose, and ears, dark energies streamed from his closed eyes.

In the state of slumber, Goldarin's dreams were amorphous and distant, with nothing to see and only something he thought was an old female terran's voice speaking of strange unfathomable phrases. Suddenly, with the dreams still fresh in mind, the praetor was jolted awake by the signal life monitoring system installed in his armor. After shaking off the grogginess of sleep, he realized that such an alarm was impossible. When he had been struck by the shockwave from the Void Thrasher's attack, all systems on his power suit had knocked out of commission. He also remembered how he was rendered on the verge of death from the blast, which certainly wasn't the case anymore if his body's own current lack of discomfort and monitoring system's report of optimal health was any indication.

 _"I am not dead...and this place is not within the void."_

It was well known that the void could warp the very fabric of space, bending anywhere in the material universe, and it appeared he had been deposited on some world. That assessment aside, springing to his feet, Goldarin was quick to note his new changes, the slight dark aura especially. Peering into a nearby murky puddle, he saw his previous incandescent blue eyes shining a lustrous purple. Testing his psi-blade bracers and every other function of his armor, Goldarin was pleased to note they all activated as they had before, except for one. The crystal matrices in his armor didn't teleport him to a Protoss base when activated, only filling him with a cold empowering sensation he concluded was the void. The carefully arrayed gems must have absorbed the dark energies, altering them in the process. Nonetheless, Goldarin could only think of one explanation for the recovery of his body and almost all equipment.

 _"The powers of the void have always been mysterious, but to think they could repair? Heal?"_

Taking a closer look, it seemed that the void had healed him completely. His battle scars from countless battles, all of them symbols of honor, were all gone. Not only that...trailing from the back of his skull were the long trailing dreadlocks, nerve cords, that had once tethered him to salvation and destruction, bound him to the sacred communion that all Protoss once shared, the Khala. His first instinct was to immediately sever them again, remembering how when he last had them, Amon had corrupted the Khala, completely destroying his will and used him along with many others to strike against the Daelaam, his brethren. However, the Praetor held back on the instinct when he realized he could not feel a single bit of the dark god's presence, only the Khala's comforting ambience, something that in the past had once soothed him after many a war-weary battle.

But that was impossible. After the Protoss had all relinquished their ties to the Khala, it had ceased to exist. The fact that he could feel it now meant...there were others attached to it. It was the quite the puzzle, and the Praetor thought that if he perhaps communicated with those others, he may find some answers. However, although he currently could feel Protoss within the Khala, he could not reach them telepathically; perhaps they were too far away. As a warrior who had devoted his life in training and battle, it seemed he did not possess the capability. He had only utilized his psionic powers for combat-related body enhancements and for manifesting his psi-blades, nothing more. The zealot was completely in the dark of the more subtle and deep nature of the Khala. The praetor hypothesized that if he had the psionic prowess of the High Templar, he could reach further into the Khala and contact them; some of those scholars were said to be capable of communicating across solar systems, after all. Perhaps he should devote his efforts to immersing himself more within the Khala to boost his psionic proficiency to one day be able to do so. The High Templar were said to spend a few centuries to reach such heights, but considering the millennial lifespan of his race, he could afford it.

However, if the nearest Protoss civilization was beyond the range of a solar system, he would need a psi-link spire, a tower that amplifies Protoss communication to the point where one could speak across the galaxy.

 _"But I am a warrior. Such feats of engineering are a phase-smith's profession."_

It appeared Goldarin's only option for now was to train in the ways of the high templar.

With his centuries of experience, the zealot unconsciously took in his current surroundings while pondering these thoughts. To a member of his advanced race, it was a primitively constructed cell bereft of exits besides one gate door that was rather small for the ten foot tall warrior.

 _"There must be sentient races on this planet to create such a cage, but are underdeveloped in the technological sense."_

The important thing was that the cell was quiet, cool, dark, and that rickety iron bar-door would not stop him should he decide to leave. Unlike Goldarin's zealot training where he channeled his white-hot rage for battle, training in the Khala to further psychic potential required calm control, where one to close their minds to the outside world; his current location was the perfect place to begin. Goldarin leaned his weapon against a wall, yet still in arm's reach as his decades of warrior training demanded. The Praetor then closed his eyes and muted his senses, wrapped in the esoteric 'blanket' of the Khala...

...

A creaking noise from above shook Goldarin from his trance and put him on guard, his Solarite Reaper instantly in his grip. Lifting his head, he saw light from a trapdoor on the high ceiling of the cell, the illumination increasing as the it slowly opened up to reveal a...terran?...clad in very thin full armor compared to those marines the zealot had seen before. After noting that the terran's helmet completely covered his head, Goldarin's attention focused on the shriveled terran corpse they held in both hands, one that strangely had a small ball of fire near its chest. The Praetor's keen eyes also spotted a shield strapped to the armored terran's back and a sword at their hip. In terms of the Praetor's limited knowledge into their history, terrans had made the transition from such rudimentary weapons to firearms several centuries ago.

 _'A primitive world indeed.'_

Goldarin thought privately. Perhaps the void had transported him through time as well? Or perhaps he was in the same time, but on a planet where a race that resembled terrans lived? In any case, Goldarin doubted the armored person above had the answers to these questions, and resolved to keep calling him and any more of his kind by the name 'Terran', at least until he gained knowledge of their true name. By now, the armored Terran had seemingly spotted him in one of the only remaining shadows left in the cell, and immediately let out a gasp that the zealot recognized as a male voice, while dropping the rotten corpse. After the sack of flesh hit the ground with a dull thud, a stunned silence quickly descended upon them.

All of the Protoss were natural telepaths, Goldarin being no different.

 _"State your name, race, and purpose."_

The zealot tersely transmitted this thought outward, slightly vexed in having been disturbed from his meditation. The man above recoiled as he heard the echoing voice in his head, one that was filled with power. Under the cover of his visor, his gaze met Goldarin's glowing purple eyes.

"...Was that you?"

 _"Yes. State your name, race, and purpose."_

The armored terran seemed to look him up and down for a moment before answering.

"I...I am Oscar of Astora, a human, and I sought to free you. On that body there is the key to unlock the door to thy cell."

The Astoran had never seen anything like the...being...down below in the cell. It certainly didn't seem like a hollow or monster or any insane creature per se; it had a noble appearance, and that armor and weaponry was definitively very opulent and sophisticated. He was startled further when the being crouched and jumped about forty feet straight up out of the opening Oscar had unlatched, landing beside him in the span of a second. It was then the man saw how it loomed a good four feet over him in height. He unconsciously drew his sword and held his shield up, but lowered both once he saw the being had their massive greataxe as tall as itself held downward, the bladed part touching the ground in a non-hostile gesture.

 _"Although such a deed is unnecessary, you have my thanks."_

Now no longer in a cell, Goldarin surveyed his new surroundings. Below a gray sky filled with stormclouds, he seemed to be on the edge of the roof of a terran, no, human building, an old one judging from the damaged condition of the stonework. There were even a few sections of the building that had crumbled away from age. Large domed steeples protruded from every corner, the largest tower that dwarfed them all stood in the center. Far away in every direction were countless mountains, but relatively close in the east was a ruin of what appeared to be another building, and behind it was a precipice that seemingly led nowhere. His purple eyes fell upon Oscar, who had been watching him in awe and slight wariness at the tall being before him.

"What...What art thou?"

The Astoran couldn't help but finally ask.

 _"You address Goldarin, tenth Praetor of the Daelaam. My race constitutes as the children of ancient gods, and extends beyond the stars."_

Oscar didn't really understand much of what was said except the being's name and the 'children of ancient gods' part. The man had never met anyone quite like Goldarin before, appearance plus mind communication and all; he was more than willing to believe that the being was of the divine.

"To think even those with the blood of the gods would be affected by the curse..."

 _"What do you mean? What curse?"_

"You do not know? I may have not been here for too long, but even I know this place is the Undead Asylum, where undead are corralled to await the end of the world..."

Oscar then explained a bit about the undead curse, all the while a bit disbelieving at the god descendant's ignorance. The undeath malediction scoured the entire world, it was hard to believe that there could be anyone who hadn't heard of it.

 _"How can you be certain I am this...undead?"_

Truthfully, Goldarin was quite intrigued. Hollowing aside, the idea of rising from true death over and over stirred his warrior heart. He knew that if these 'humans' ever reached the technological scale of the terrans, then they would be a far greater threat.

"Well, all undead are branded by the darksign, an insignia resembling a ring of fire which appears on the left shoulder-blade."

Goldarin couldn't physiologically see that part of his body, although he was able to shift part of his power suit a bit to reach his hand there. Instantly, he felt a strange heat, something he hadn't felt when his armor was in its original place over it. Also, Oscar took a look and saw the small ring of fire on the zealot's back.

"Yes, it glows brightly when touched by oneself."

Unlike the many who cursed their fate when informed of their undead condition, Goldarin instead was elated.

 _"Endless battle that even death cannot halt..."_

He thought, enraptured. To the protoss warrior, it was the perfect existence. Furthermore, it seemed to him that, besides repeated deaths, the loss of sanity in 'hollowing' occurred from the gradual loss of purpose and will. He knew he had both in spades, having drawn upon endless amounts of willpower before regardless of the many insurmountable odds faced in battle, and thus was certain he would never reach that state. The idea of a decaying appearance didn't faze him either. If he could still serve the Daelaam and his people in such a state, he didn't mind such a condition. As for how such a boon was granted to him, the zealot didn't know, nor really care. Oscar also had made it clear in his explanation that he had no idea how the curse spread.

Meanwhile, Goldarin's words sounded extremely bizarre to Oscar, and it was then that the armored man truly believed that the being before was completely unaware of the curse that ravaged every land.

 _'But how could this be? It's almost as if thou art from another world...Wait...'_

The Astoran pondered, before suddenly coming to an epiphany. While he had never used one himself, Oscar was aware of the existence of soapstones, objects that could supposedly allow one to travel between worlds. While he was sure Goldarin probably hadn't used one, it didn't rule out the possibility that the being had been transported here from a world that might not have the curse. Such a world did sound like paradise to him, and he longed to see it...until he remembered his quest. Gazing upon the much taller and presumably more powerful being, he spoke.

"Goldarin, you and I, we're both fellow Undead. I wish to ask something of you. Will you hear me out?"

Snapping out of his reverie, Goldarin gazed upon the Oscar's smaller form.

 _"I have already done so once. Proceed, human."_

"If thou was unaware of the undead curse, then thou must have never heard its legend. There is an old saying in my family, thou who art Undead, art chosen. In thine exodus from the Undead Asylum, maketh pilgrimage to the land of Ancient Lords, Lordran. When thou ringeth the Bell of Awakening, the fate of the Undead thou shalt know.

"In truth, in my time here, I have been releasing whoever hasn't truly hollowed from their prisons, in order for them to follow in this quest that all undead share, in order for one to succeed and hopefully learn the way to save the world from this infernal curse. God's descendant from another world, I implore you to take up this sacred charge..."

Oscar knelt at the end, thinking that was the proper way to address a being of a god's blood, to which he supposed was akin to royalty.

For Goldarin, the protoss law of Dae'Uhl, non-interference with other lesser races, came to mind. He quickly dismissed it, when he remembered how his valiant Hierarch Artanis had expressed that such rooted ancient traditions should be cast aside. The Praetor also had the inkling that on such a journey he would possibly find the answers to all of his inquires such as his location in the time-space continuum, and how could he get back to his people. This quest seemed to be the path to move forward, and would probably be filled with opportunities to do battle. Speaking of which...

 _"You say slaying things on this world grants you their...souls...which increases your power?"_

"Correct."

 _"Does this apply to mental prowess as well?"_

Oscar recalled a passing conversation he had in the past with several traveling sorcerers from Vinheim, who had informed him that souls increased the depths of their sorceries, which were commonly known to be linked with the powers of the mind.

"Yes."

Goldarin was intrigued by this idea. In that case, there was no need to spend centuries training his psionic power; he could just slay things on this quest instead, which was perfectly fine by him. It fit his warrior's nature after all. He ultimately was becoming more and more curious of this world, growing anxious to see it.

 _"Then consider my willing participation in this endeavor."_

"Splendid!"

Oscar cried out, before standing up and reaching for something on his person. He took out a dull green flask, which shined brightly due to the mysterious amber concoction within.

"Oh, one more thing. Here, take this... An Estus Flask, an Undead favorite..."

After hearing Oscar's analysis on the uses of the reagent while examining its golden liquid, Goldarin only lightly shook his head, pointing to his face, or more specifically, his lack of a mouth.

 _"Oscar, I cannot drink this; it is useless to me."_

The Astoran quickly forestalled any attempt to receive it back, quickly clarifying:

"It's hard to explain, but the liquid isn't quaffed. Just pour it in a drinking fashion like so, and it will take effect."

The armored man took out a second flask and held it to the front of his closed visor. He made a motion like how one would chug down a drink, the estus spilling out of its container. The liquid then seemed to be...absorbed into the human's body, and Oscar then gave off some sort of small flame-like aura for a short time. Seeing this, Goldarin promptly found a place to his new flask; it fit perfectly where his transceiver for non-telepathic communication was harnessed. Such a device was now useless anyhow, and so he crushed it in a fist, not wanting to leave such technology out in the open, and attached the flask in its former location. The Astoran then led Goldarin to the left, stopping next to one of the towers. Next to its wall lied a heavily rusted sword stabbed into a mound of what looked like bones and ash on the roof, where a small flame sizzled on the bottom. Oscar proceeded to sit down near it.

"The Estus Flask has limits to its usage, but if we sit around bonfires like these, they are refilled. Oh, also the bonfire heals all who sit near it as well, and is the place where any souls accumulated are used up to increase our power. Also, if we were to die, we would reappear at the last bonfire we rested at."

Upon sitting down near the bonfire while setting his Solarite Reaper before him, Goldarin promptly felt a soothing heat fill his every pore, every ache fading away, and his surroundings were enshrouded by a golden haze. Seeing the surprise in the zealot's eyes, Oscar smiled beneath his helmet.

"Intoxicating, isn't it?"

 _"...Oscar, how does one leave this Undead Asylum and reach this Lordran?"_

Asked Goldarin after taking in the euphoria he felt from merely sitting near a fire.

"Have you seen the ruin covered cliff over by the east?"

Seeing Goldarin's nod, the Astoran continued.

"Apparently when one reaches the edge, they'll be transported then. However, the door in the Asylum leading there is locked. There were said to be two demon jailors of this prison, and other than my goal of releasing prisoners, I had been trying to find them. I found one of those beasts in the bowels of an underground dungeon, but there seemed to be no real way to reach it. The last place I haven't checked is the top of these towers, but I've yet to find a way to scale them."

The zealot watched as the human's head swiveled to look at the the largest of the spires, the centermost one.

"It does seem to me that that tower is the only one large enough to hide a creature of the demon's size."

 _"Then we shall reach it."_

Goldarin confidently said as he grasped his greataxe, standing up and heading for the aforementioned domed tower.

"Huh?"

Oscar uttered as he stood up and followed along. On the way the Zealot was able to spot a central courtyard below, one that also had a bonfire. Standing before the high steeple, he stopped and spoke.

 _"Do not move."  
_ Confused, Oscar still followed this request, and surprised to find himself held by one arm by the much taller being. Pumping energy into his augmented legs, an enhancement only granted by Protoss who've achieved the most honors in battle, Goldarin rocketed both of them upwards, high enough to land on top of the rotunda. In doing so, he found himself face to face with what he assumed was the demon. It was hideous monster with a large, bulbous lower body with strange bumpy bonelike protrusions on its legs. Four antlers sprouted from its head, and its lips were peeled back showing jagged teeth. Two proportionally tiny wings were attached to its back, and it wielded a great stone hammer as tall as itself.

The zealot immediately leapt about ten meters away from the beast and deposited Oscar, creating distance and time to evaluate this opponent. Trying to feel its mind, Goldarin could only sense primal bloodlust. He wasn't too fazed, however. Although he could feel his smaller companion's tension, to the Praetor the asylum demon was huge, but wasn't even half the size of the Ultralisks he had slain before, unstoppable killing machines of the Zerg swarm.

Goldarin could feel white-hot fury begin to gather within him as the beast took its first lumbering steps towards them, a trait shared by all Protoss to bolster performance in battle. Before his passion could hit its peak, he heard Oscar's slightly strained voice.

"I have a plan. Since there are two of us, we should attack on two opposite sides. With your mobility, you should circle behind it before striking while I draw its attention by directly assaulting its front."

 _"A sound plan."_

Slightly impressed by the human's boldness and initiative, Goldarin agreed to it. Oscar then rushed for the beast, metal armor clanking all the way.

 _"Honor guide me!"_

The zealot roared his battle cry as he sprinted to the side after he saw Oscar was close enough to the Asylum Demon that the beast began to swing its weapon. For the Astoran, once he saw the great hammer held high, there was no time to think. He could only roll forward, a motion that was slowed due to his armor's weight. Luckily, the man just barely avoided the demon's downward swing, which smashed in much of the tower's roof behind him. Struggling as fast as he could to get up, Oscar then plunged his sword straight into the demon's gut; at the same time behind it, Goldarin began delivering a flurry of strikes with his greataxe, the Solarite blade slicing through the beast's tough hide like paper.

The Asylum Demon bellowed in pain, and its small wings began urgently flapping, which somehow flew the monster up. Goldarin recognized that the beast was trying to execute a rear-end drop. While Oscar scrambled to make sure he wasn't under the demon when it fell, the zealot surmised such an attack would most likely destroy the whole roof, and resolved at the very least to stop it from getting any higher. He leapt up in a uppercut, his axe striking the monster's back as he landed on it, and in a single sweep he severed both of the demon's wings. Gravity caught up to demon and protoss then, with said protoss taking the opportunity to stab through the back of the demon's skull a few times with a psi-blade before they hit the roof. The Asylum Demon roared its dying scream as its weight caved in the roof entirely, and all three fell with the rubble.

Just before Goldarin was about to stab the demon's head yet again, it exploded in a cloud of white lights, which he saw pool into himself and Oscar, who was falling a little bit away from his position.

The zealot felt invigorating sensation; whether it was from the triumph of slaying the beast or from what he thought was the souls absorption, Goldarin didn't know. He glanced at the rapidly approaching floor of the main hall far beneath him, and braced for impact.

* * *

 **AN: Much of this chapter takes place in parts of the Undead Asylum that are inaccessible to the game, which gave me the liberty of adding things like an extra bonfire.  
**

 **Review/Fav/Follow pls :/ (Or all three)**


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